


An Alternate Ending

by anotherthief



Series: Will and Amy Gardner [2]
Category: The Good Wife (TV), The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 01:04:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1368244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherthief/pseuds/anotherthief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A phone call from Diane leaves Amy in shock. (Part of an alternate universe in which Will and Amy are ex-spouses.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alternate Ending

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 2011, I started a Will/Amy AU. I got as far as to post the beginning, the night they met while in NYC doing an internship between year 2 and 3 of law school. I never managed to write the middle but after this week's episode of The Good Wife, I was compelled to write the ending.
> 
> It is not necessary to read my first Will/Amy ficlet to understand this one. But if anyone would like to read it, I have finally posted it to Ao3 and linked it to this one as part of a series.

_“Amy, Diane Lockhart is on line two. She says she works at a law firm in Chicago, something about a Will Gardner? She sounds upset.”_

It was just another day until a few hours ago. Three meetings, a luncheon (where she did not light anything on fire, thank you very much), one heated argument with Josh about the additional earmark for Planned Parenthood she had added to the latest health bill and three dodged phone calls from her sister. She was even on target to be out of the office before 7 o’clock for once.

Three hours later and she’s still sitting in her office chair staring blankly out into the night sky beyond the window. Amy’s hand shakes as she raises the tumbler to her lips. The scotch doesn’t even touch the numbness, but the weight of the glass in her hands helps ground her to reality.

_“Amy, I don’t know how to say this. There was a courtroom shooting and Will was shot. He – he died. I’m sorry.”_

It’s been three years since she saw Will. They were married for less than five years almost two decades ago, but she can’t breathe. Her chest feels tight, like a boa constrictor has taken up residence in her rib cage, coiling more and more tightly every time she breathes in.

The last time she talked to Will was on their wedding anniversary. Every year he called without fail. He’d give her hell about whatever she’d been in the paper for that week, picking on her just because he knew what buttons to push to get her riled up. She’d curse and tell him this was why she divorced him, didn’t he remember that and why the hell did he call every year if he just wanted to piss her off. Then he’d laugh and damn if she wouldn’t too. His voice echoes in her ear – _Just to remind you what you’re missing out on._

She would swear she could hear his smile through the phone. They would catch up for a few minutes, he’d wish her a happy anniversary and that was it. A twenty minute a year relationship and a drink when he was in D.C. or she was in Chicago.

But she can’t breathe.

_“Will was shot.”_

Her cheeks are wet when she reaches up to push her hair out of her face. She’s not sure when she started crying.

It’s late that night before she stops.

In her head she can see Will smiling and following her out onto the dance floor the night they met, breaking into the window of her apartment at Yale when they locked themselves out, and proposing to try to end an argument and the look on his face when she made her point and then said yes. She also remembers the anger and despair in his eyes when she gave him back her wedding rings and moved out. Amy broke his heart and left taking only memories and his last name with her.

_“He died.”_

It’s been three years since she saw him, months since she talked to him and almost two decades since they divorced, but she can’t stop crying.

She was the one who walked away. She never expected to be the one who had to say goodbye.


End file.
